Sure. I think he pardoned Eugene Debs. What else is there to say about
Here's my collected quotes from him (and one that mentions him):
Prosperity is only an instrument to be used, not a deity to be worshipped.
Four fifths of all our troubles in this life would disappear, if we
would only sit down and keep still.
Perhaps one of the most important accomplishments of my administration
has been minding my own business.
-Calvin Coolidge, March 1, 1929
In a legendary smoke-filled room of the Blackstone Hotel a little
group of shirt-sleeved men chose as their candidate a figure stuffed
with straw and this figure they stood up and he was nominated next day
under the name of Warren G. Harding.
The convention went through the form of taking ballots. The vote was
taken, the roll was called, state by state, an empty farce. It
happened that I had met Warren G. Harding a few years before in
Cleveland. He and I had been speakers at a large convention. I had sat
listening to his speech and as I listened I had thought, then, "Here
is a living cartoon of the American Fourth of July stuffed-shirt orator."
I had gone into that convention firm in the belief that the World War
had taught us something. I had thought that the Peace of 1918 and the
Wilsonian plan that followed it would bring a measure of new dignity,
of universal humanity into a war-torn world. It now sounds incredibly
naive but nevertheless I did believe this then.
Now, in the trumped-up fanfare that followed the nomination of Harding
I felt these beliefs being torn from me as a child, helpless, is
bereft of her toys. I knew that I was going to cry. I tried hard not
to. Perhaps I was weary, nervous, a little hysterical from the noise
and the heat and the excitement. But I knew deep down that it was the
horrible pain of disillusionment in my country and my people that was
making me weep. I stared steadily at a small round window high up near
the ceiling of the vast room. If you stare very hard with your eyes
wide open you sometimes can hold back the tears. So I stared. The
window was dirty and festooned with cobwebs. The clamor went on
outside and inside me. The stony-eyed effort was not going to work.
Two tears slid down my cheeks and plopped onto the front of the blue
dress; two more, two more.
Bill McNutt, just beside me, put his great hand over mine. "Don't
bother," he said. "Doesn't matter ... hundred years from now."
Then they nominated Calvin Coolidge for Vice-President. And then a
very strange thing happened. That same William Slavens McNutt made a
prediction and it came true. McNutt was a war correspondent and
special writer; a gigantic fellow, hard-boiled, tenderhearted; wise
with the terrible wisdom of the experienced and intuitive
newspaperman. He had a great fist that looked as if it could fell an
ox with a blow. This massive member was now brought down on the pine
table with such force that we though he had splintered the boards. The
combined press section jumped.
"There goes Harding!" bawled McNutt.
"What do you mean?" I asked, rather waspishly.
"Harding'll never serve his term out. He'll die and Coolidge will be
"Don't be silly. What makes you say a thing like that?"
"Wait. You'll see. Coolidge luck. He's shot with it."
-Edna Ferber, A Peculiar Treasure
--- In firstname.lastname@example.org, "Ram Lau" <ramlau@y...> wrote:
> Does anyone care to know anything about him?